


The Hunger of an Immortal

by Ozymanreis



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [48]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Character Turned Into Vampire, Dark, M/M, Post-His Last Vow, Vamp!lock, Vampire Jim, Vampire Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 10:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2385917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thought if things could end on his terms, he might be able to hold it forever in his mind as a perfect relationship. As his ideal of love that he could never capture again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunger of an Immortal

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #4: Dark
> 
> Co-written with a stranger on Omegle that I edited for a more coherent story, hence the length :)

Immortality was a quiet affair. 

Jim had long lost his concept of time — he'd been sired into vampirehood hundreds of years ago. Thousands dead just to maintain his everlasting youth and malevolence. But he was an unusual sort: he preferred to have a _connection_ with his victims. He'd kill just to feed, certainly, but the willing ones were always oh so much sweeter.

Perhaps it was a woman with curves in the right places, or a man with excellent grooming, Jim was choosy, but not _that_ choosy. They didn't live more than one night in his company, so they wouldn't get the chance to _bore_ him. And if they did, well, they wouldn't do so for very long.

But in nearly three hundred years, Jim Moriarty had never encountered anyone so endlessly fascinating as Sherlock Holmes. Intelligent, durable, honest, enigmatic, morally gray, and if he were being honest, the detective was the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on. And unlike his brother, willing to throw himself into the work, no matter how physical or taxing. 

Unfortunately, he wasn't used to such attraction, and rejected it just on instinct. He played with him for a few years, but couldn't handle it any further. He ended things by shooting himself in the face — something that would _kill_ a human, but merely annoyed Jim — and trying to kill Sherlock off. He thought if things could end on his terms, he might be able to hold it forever in his mind as a perfect relationship. As his ideal of love that he could never capture again. 

However. Sherlock proved too clever. He survived Jim's little ordeal. It was impressive, but he didn't want to admit it. So he watched from afar. Smirked from time to time when Sherlock thought he was _actually_ making progress in destroying his criminal web. But the thing about eternity… you've got endless opportunity. 

He'd almost forgot Sherlock wasn't the same. 

But then the reminder of the detective's looming mortality came in the vessel of a suicide mission. And with his beloved so very close to the edge of death, Jim decided to grant him one last favor in having his image pop up everywhere in England. To save him, but just his image was enough to strike terror in the hearts of millions. He didn't _actually_ need to be around, especially not when Mr. Holmes had it out for him. 

Yet, in doing this, he realized his… _desperation_. He _couldn't_ lose Sherlock. No, not when he'd finally found someone interesting. After a brief reunion, and giving a few months for the country to calm down, Jim physically returned to London to make Sherlock an offer:

 

**Have you ever given any thought to immortality? -JM**

 

**In general, or my own? -SH**

 

**Both, either. -JM**

 

**Seeing as it's scientifically improbable, I should say not. -SH**

 

**Yes… but what if it wasn't? Just hypothetically. -JM**

 

**Honestly, it sounds boring. -SH**

 

**So is living. -JM**

 

**Most of the time. -SH**

 

**I imagine if you had forever, there would be more interesting things to see. -JM**

**At least statistically. -JM**

 

**I suppose I wouldn't mind that. -SH**

**Why are we having this conversation? -SH**

 

**Because I've decided I want to keep you. -JM**

 

**Sentiment. -SH**

 

**Of course. But what do you say, darling? -JM**

**Want to be mine? -JM**

 

**[delay] Say I believed you, and that you are actually immortal, and could make me the same, /how/? -SH**

 

**You wouldn't believe me if I just /told/ you. -JM**

 

**Obviously not. -SH**

 

**I'm offering a demonstration. And if you still don't believe me… -JM**

**Well, you like risking your life to prove you're clever, don't you? -JM**

 

**Yes. When and where? -SH**

 

**Now, and my flat. -JM**

 

**I still don't know where you live. -SH**

 

**Car is waiting outside, gorgeous. -JM**

 

 

Sherlock didn't respond, silently getting up from the sofa and slipping into the black Sedan.

Jim smirked, putting down the mobile; he knew without textual confirmation that Sherlock was coming to him. Oh, it was finally going to happen. More than twenty years of waiting. Which, relative to his life wasn't that long, but the anticipation made it seem like ages. He didn't keep a lot of people, and the detective was the first he'd /really/ wanted. Opening the door slowly, he grinned, "Why hello dear. Please come in."

Sherlock nodded, stepping inside. He was alert of course, knowing that this could very well be some sort of trap but it was interesting — too interesting to pass up. After all, only _Moriarty_ would use _immortality_ as a line to capture someone. "Let's see this proof then," he stated, unwrapping his scarf from his neck and hanging it up alongside his coat on the back of the door.

Turning around, he saw the flat was nothing special; themes of black and purple, dark blues. Thick curtains, the only light coming from bulbs in draconian-looking lamps that were set to dim. As ordinary-seeming as it was, there was an eerie feeling, and not just because it was the flat of a murderer. As if it stood abandoned for great periods of time, everything looking too… pristine. Then again, this probably wasn't Jim's _real_ flat. Just a spare he kept for possible murders. Or offering eternal life, whatever was going to happen, Sherlock was ambivalent on the outcome, more eager to learn of the mechanics. 

Jim rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, "Oh Sherlock, I'm offering you a _gift_ and you storm in here demanding things." He winked, "But then again, that's one of the many reasons I like you. May I offer you anything before we begin?" He knew that he'd get a firm "no," but he did so love dragging these things out. Seeing the look on people's faces the first time they found out. Especially one so logical as Sherlock. Perhaps his head would explode.

"Don't mess around, James, I really haven't the time." 

"That's where you're wrong." Shaking his head as he replied, Jim slowly glided over to the other side of the apartment, _Soon, soon. We'll have all the time in the world_. "Come to the window." He beckoned him over to the obscenely curtained window, fingers hovering over the opening, "And hold out your hand."

Sherlock nodded, walking to join him at the window, curiosity always being the worst of his traits. Without question, he offered him his hand, eyes tracking Jim's every move.

Jim snatched his hand. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself — for all he loved about it, he always hated this part. He pulled the curtain back the smallest possible bit, letting in the tracest amounts of sunlight he could allow, flickering over their joined hands. Immediately, Jim's hand grew very hot, turning red, and making a faint sizzling noise.

Sherlock frowned, looking at his hand as it began to redden, searching his mind for some reason of why skin would burn so easily. Jim didn't classify as someone who couldn't go out in the sun; he was pale but there would be other signs should he have that rarest of disease. In any case, as it began to smoke, Sherlock quickly yanked the curtain shut again — he didn't want him to continue on that path. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

Jim nodded, rubbing the back of his hand gently — it'd heal fast, but it was still unpleasant. "As well you shouldn't... it's a well-kept secret. Especially by your _government_..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. But sherlock wasn't really going to believe him either way, so he settled on going for upfront, "I'm a vampire."

Sherlock quirked a brow at once, knee-jerk reaction being to snap, " _Impossible_." Vampires didn't exist; there were no proven cases, government hidden conspiracy or not. Surely... but it would explain why Jim's hand burnt. Sherlock let go of his hand, quickly moving to his mouth, pulling his upper lip to reveal his fangs, "Interesting..."

"It's considered _rude_ to do that without permission..." Jim garbled out as best he could with his upper lip immobilized, but he was a bit pleased Sherlock was at least thinking critically.

"Since when have I been one for social protocol?" Even in a situation that many might consider dangerous: being in front of a real life vampire. If that was actually the case, "I'm going to need more proof."

"As well you should." Jim smirked; only Sherlock Holmes would try and make more excuses after he'd been shown _this_ much, "What else could I do?"

Sherlock considered for a moment, going through his mind of what vampires were supposedly able to do. "Is it all true? Garlic? Holy water?"

Jim chuckled, "Um... No. The garlic thing is a myth brought on by the black plague, and… well. The church doesn't hold as much power as it thinks." Sherlock nodded, moving into the kitchen while he spoke. A vampire wouldn't need food, after all, so if this was true, he expected to find none.

"There _is_ food in there, if you're wondering." Jim said, basically reading his thoughts so present on his face, "I entertain guests, and I can't have them _suspecting_..." He followed him into the kitchen, "Besides, a full fridge is one of those things you're just supposed to have; status symbol and all. I pay someone to swap it out when it begins to spoil."

Sherlock hummed. That answered that, "And that person knows what you are, I presume? Or do you simply pay them enough to not ask questions as to why the food is never eaten?"

"I imagine Moran knows what I am… seeing as he _is_ one himself."

Of course. No doubt Jim had turned him then. Sherlock wasn't the first he was offering this… _opportunity_ , "And you want to make me one, too?"

"Obviously." Jim reached out a hand, stroking Sherlock's hair, "I said I wanted to keep you forever… difficult to do while you're still alive. Aging and all."

Sherlock didn't stop himself leaning into his hand; he always had liked Jim. Fancied his apparent madness and ingenuity, "I'd have to kill people?"

Jim shrugged, "Yeah. Is that a problem?"

Sherlock sighed, "Of course it is. I'm not a killer, Jim."

"You killed Magnussen." He replied flatly.

"True... but he wasn't innocent."

"Does _that_ matter?" Jim quirked a brow, "But if that's fine, if you wanted, you could kill only 'bad' people..." Jim wrinkled his nose, "Whatever _that_ means."

Sherlock looked back at him and sighed; he didn't want to kill at all. There had to be another way. But if he had to... he could only kill criminals. Some mock kind of vigilante justice, "Okay... one condition. Tell me why you want to keep me? Eternity is a long time."

Jim laced his fingers in Sherlock's hair, pulling their faces close together, "Why don't you _deduce_ it?"

"If I'm going to take this chance... I want _you_ to say it." He could deduce it. The thought had crossed his mind several times before. But this time he wanted proof that he was right.

"Well, well..." Jim pressed Sherlock against the wall, the detective not struggling at all, "Tell _me_ something first... have you really considered this? I mean... _really_ considered it. No sunlight. Killing people. No real, full emotions after your heart stops forever…"

Sherlock's eyes bore into his own. It was a big ask. What would Mycroft think? But people did stupid things for stupid human reasons all the time, "Yes."

Jim pulled Sherlock's hair, jerking his head to the side, revealing his neck, pressing his lips against the throbbing vein, "Then I'll tell you." He murmured, "Because I _like_ you. You know this."

Sherlock swallowed, still not fighting it. "Like? Say the word, Jim. The other one."

Jim chuckled, "Oh Sherlock. My heart hasn't beat in centuries. My blood doesn't carry hormones." He leaned away, looking him in the eye, "Love, to me, is quite different than what it is for you."

"So you can't feel love? Or you don't love me?" He moved his head back, straightening up.

"I can't _feel_ love." Jim pressed his palm to Sherlock's cheek, which was... cold, now that the sunburn from earlier had cleared, "But I can think it. _Know_ it in my mind."

Sherlock nodded. Was it worth it then? If Jim didn't love him and if Sherlock's own ability to feel that way would disappear.

"I do love you, Sherlock." Jim confirmed, "Don't worry. It sounds scary now, but it'll pass..." He flickered his eyes over his face, scanning it for hesitation, "Unless you want to wait?"

Sherlock's mind raced. He didn't _feel_ love, but he _knew_ it… That was good enough, wasn't it? He took a deep breath and tilted his head again. "Do it."

Jim laughed, "Oh good lord, not _here_." Jim gestured around them, "Do you want to start writhing in pain on the _floor_?" He shook his head, "No, no. Please remember you're going to _die_."

"Right... where?" He was going to _die_? Well. He'd always heard the stories referencing vampires as "undead," so really, it shouldn't have been much of a surprise. "How long does this take?"

Jim shrugged, "Dunno. Different for everyone." He began tugging Sherlock out of the kitchen, "Bedroom. Mattress is comfortable. Might as well make this as easy on you as possible."

Sherlock nodded, checking his phone one last time before turning it to silent. He didn't want to be bothered while he was dying, after all. He followed Jim up to the bedroom, his face not showing that he was actually afraid. He didn't like fear. Didn't admit to it. But he was putting a lot of faith in someone else for the first time.

Jim glanced at his own mobile, turning it off. This was too good of a moment to miss, and far too precious to be captured by a camera. No, he'd preserve this in his memory database for centuries. "Would you like to say goodbye to anyone? You won't be _disappearing_ , you'll go about your life, but... well, it'll be the last time you _feel_ for any of them." He lead Sherlock to the bedroom, king-sized mattress waiting with fluffy pillows and blankets.

Sherlock shook his head, "No..." He felt numb to the rest of the world anyway. Since the shooting really... his hand subconsciously brushed at the scar through his shirt. He shouldn't be upset that John had gone back to her; he'd more or less pushed him to it. But it didn't matter now. He'd only need Jim. Scared as he was, he settled onto the bed, smiling slightly. "First time I see your bed and you're going to kill me in it..."

Jim smirked, "Well, if you want to do something _else_ , we've got all of eternity..." He pushed Sherlock to lay down, straddling his lap.

"I suppose we do." Sherlock swallowed thickly. _Die a virgin?_

"Something on your mind, my sweet?" Jim had gotten an evil glint in his eyes, undoing the top couple buttons on his shirt, using the extra leeway to tug down his collar.

"Nothing that matters... Will things still feel the same? Physically?"

"Mmm... there will be differences, of course." Jim gently stroked his neck with his careful fingers, "For starters, humans will feel a lot more fragile. Anything specific you were wondering about?"

Sherlock trembled just slightly under his fingers. "Sex."

"Hmmm..." Jim pondered, "It still feels good. But I wouldn't know what it's like for a human..."

"You never had sex when you were human?"

He shook his head slowly, "Sherlock, I was born quite a long time ago. Religious mandate was _law_. Especially in Ireland." He scoffed, "If I had wanted to have sex, I would've pretty much been required to get married. And I always had better things to think about... but then when eternity rolled around, I was surprised at just how much I had time for."

Sherlock smiled just a little. His mind was made up then. He didn't need to have sex before; Jim hadn't. "Alright... I'm ready then."

"Then again... if that's something you're interested in, I wouldn't be averse..." He unclasped another button, "I'd hate to think I was _depriving_ you of anything."

"I don't need to. I just wanted to know that I wouldn't be missing out." He watched his fingers.

"Alright. If you're sure." Jim leaned down, kissing his neck gently, "Now?"

Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes. "Now."

Taking a moment to compose himself, Jim sunk his fangs in, blood flowing into his mouth. It was so sweet. Willing victims were always much better, just as a rule. Sherlock, however, was something he'd never expected. A nemesis he'd wooed. A battle he'd won. Yet, one that would now last forever.

Sherlock winced, trying to keep himself calm as he knew this was the end, that he could be signing himself over to death without actually waking. Jim could just kill him… but he was here, taking that chance.

Jim drank greedily. Of course, he had to take a lot, but the trick was to take _just_ enough... but he wanted to savor this ideal. Blood so glorious, that he'd rarely taste again. As he felt the detective's heart begin to slow, he pulled back, wiping his mouth, "Now it's your turn." He effortlessly cut his own neck open with a fingernail, flipping them over, guiding Sherlock's face to the open wound, "Drink."

Sherlock could feel it; he'd felt death before and how it crept up, weakening the body and stilling the mind. He had to force his eyes open when Jim spoke, moving him. Everything was just a haze now. He put his lips over the wound, lapping weakly at the blood dripping onto his tongue. Strange… how _good_ it tasted.

Jim smirked as he felt Sherlock's feeble ministrations. It was always so cute, the innocence of the first few steps. After he'd felt Sherlock had taken enough, he laid him back on the bed, spidering his hand over the detective's heart, waiting for it to stop.

Sherlock watched him, the fear in his eyes remaining until his heart stopped and they went dim. He thought that was it... he was _dead_... But then the _fire_ started, ripping through his body. He'd never felt so much pain.

"Sherlock..." Jim hummed comfortingly, "I don't know if you can still hear me, but it's going to be over soon. The fire will clear. Your body will give up trying to regain function. It'll all get very… quiet…"

Sherlock didn't know what his body looked like; he couldn't imagine being still right now while his mind was writhing in the fire. He felt trapped in a room, fire at every doorway, every time he tried to move being burnt. He heard Jim. Soon, he needed it to be over soon. He couldn't take this. An eternity of _this_. He felt his heart fighting against it all, panicking. And then there was nothing.

Jim held Sherlock's hand through most of his squirming, hoping it would give any sort of respite. But there was no comfort to be given. He sighed with relief the moment he felt Sherlock's pulse cease. His body stilling, "When you feel like it, you can open your eyes… but don't be alarmed. Your senses will be... _heightened_." To say the least. 

When Sherlock felt like it? He didn't feel like it. Jim had told him he wouldn't feel. But he did. He felt everything. He felt on the edge of tears with memories of the pain so close to the forefront of his mind, desperate to be deleted, but not strong enough to do them. He swallowed, only now noticing that he still wasn't breathing. Nor did he feel like he had to. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the clarity of everything around him, "Is it over…?"

Jim nodded eagerly, "The worst of it. Over the next few days, you'll start getting stronger, but that's a _perk_ , now, isn't it?" He gently stroked Sherlock's cheek, "What's it like? I'm always curious how different people react."

Sherlock leaned into his hand at once, relishing the reassuring touch. "Painful. Worse than anything I've ever felt… and you know I've been in pain before. Getting shot… the torture at the hands of your men. This was so much _worse_. And it was…" He looked at him again, about to admit something he'd never usually admit. "Terrifying. I thought it was never going to end."

Jim cupped his jaw, not quite sure what to say other than, "It's over now." He felt a dull ache on his insides — he wished he didn't have to put Sherlock through that. Not after all he'd suffered. But now… well, he'd never suffer like that again. Never know the fear of dying, or aging, "You look great." He smiled, trying to sound optimistic.

Sherlock frowned, looking back at him. "Do I look different?"

"Mmm. Not drastically. Just... _paler_. A bit… cleaner? More defined edges. Definitely less vulnerable." He grinned, "You'll still show up in mirrors, if you were wondering. You could take a look."

Sherlock nodded; that was a good thing really. He didn't class many people as observant but not showing up in front of a mirror would be a giveaway. He got up slowly and walked over to the large mirror of the room. "Hmm… I doubt many will notice." Mycroft, maybe. If he were looking for it. Sherlock didn't quite look like a _corpse_ , but he wasn't that far off.

"You'll have a scar on your neck, but you wear scarves anyway." Jim mused, still stretched out on the bed, "Oh, and you'll never age... probably should think of an excuse for that."

Sherlock looked at the scar, running his fingers over it. A small smile did grace his lips. Of all the scars he had... Of course he'd still wear a scarf but this one meant something. "I doubt anyone will linger long enough to notice. Besides my brother. I'll have to inform him of this."

"Oh..." Jim scowled, "Forgot about that... he's not going to like this at all…" He and Mycroft Holmes had gotten into a bit of a… _tiff_ , where Sherlock was concerned.

Sherlock looked back at him. "Unlikely... Does he know about you?"

"I told you some of the governments try to cover up our existence…" Jim smirked, "Why did you think your brother was so keen to keep you away from me?"

"Mmm. Possibly because of the 'evil' issue."

"Nah." He waved a hand, "He's mostly got his expensive briefs in a bunch because he can't _control_ me." 

"Can't he… have you killed?" Sherlock asked, cocking his head to the side; how _would_ one go about killing Jim? _Us now…_  

"It'd be a bad idea… if word got out England was killing our kind, the rest wouldn't take kindly to that."

"How many of us are there?"

"Enough." He shrugged, "A lot. We don't take censuses." Jim stood up and walked over to Sherlock, placing a hand over his now-still heart, "How are the... _feelings_?" He wouldn't have them, exactly, but Sherlock wouldn't really notice them unless they were pointed out — without the physical cues, love required a bit more thought. 

Sherlock shook his head, probably blushing if he still had a pulse, "They're still there. Very much so… is it different for different people? Or is it just because I still 'know' how I feel?" It was very prominent in his mind how he felt about Jim, "Maybe it takes a little while for feelings to completely fade…?"

"Must be. Or maybe you'll hang onto it forever." He smiled, "I never felt anything like that when it happened to me. So when I woke up… I took nothing along." He licked at Sherlock's scabbing neck wound, "Or maybe not. Anything's possible. There haven't been hard scientific tests done on us, for obvious reasons."

Sherlock nodded, looking back at him and sighing. "I hope it goes away... It won't be fair, feeling the way I do when it's so different for you. You have to think about, it but for me, it's just _there_." He let his head tilt to give him access to his neck again.

Jim chuckled, "Oh my love. I think about it whenever I see you." He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, tucking his head into the crook of his neck, "But give it time. A lot can happen in a couple hundred years." 

Sherlock smiled at that; if Jim thought about him like that whenever he saw him... That was love enough for him. It settled his mind quite nicely. He smiled, settling closer, risking his usual demeanor by wrapping his arms around him.

Jim tilted his head up, looking deep into Sherlock's eyes, pupils now over-blown with light sensitivity, "What now, my dear?"

“What time is it?” He wanted to go outside. No, what he wanted to do was… the thing he’d thought he wouldn’t want. “I’m uh… hungry."

"Dear me..." Jim snickered, he didn't expect the urges to begin so quickly, "Well, you were out for a couple hours, so the sun's down..." 

 


End file.
